


All or Nothing

by Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Civil War, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, American Civil War, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Battle of Shiloh, Captain Steve Rogers lost one of the most important people in his life. Six years later, after the Civil war ended and there's no place left for super soldiers, he's still struggling to find his place in the new world. But he'll soon learn that the war isn't as over as he first thought.</p>
<p>
  <b>Steampunk Civil War AU. </b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Modern Adam

**Author's Note:**

> Don't even ask where this came from. I can't even begin to put my finger on what triggered it. But it's going to be big, and it's going to be epic. And it's the Winter Soldier meets history meets steampunk meets MCU meets Marvel comics meets my brain gradually exploding. 
> 
> I'm researching as much as I can, but if I get things wrong (and I am likely to, since this isn't my historical area of expertise), please let me know and I'll see what I can do to amend it. It may also take some time for chapters, since I'm moving house soon.
> 
> And icing on the cake is that the lovely Gepardo is doing [some illustrations for me](http://gepardo.tumblr.com/tagged/All-or-Nothing) :D

**1862 - Shiloh**

Canons boomed and echoed in the darkness.

Steve Rogers dived down behind the trees and bushes that ran along the edge of the culvert. He almost landed square on top of the man already crouched down there.

"Jesus, Steve!"

Steve grinned into the darkness. "How's my stealth now, Buck?"

Even in the pitch black, his friend still managed to land a punch on his arm. 

They ducked down as the repeaters of the clockwork guns rattled again, crawling to the shelter of a fallen tree.

"We're pinned," Bucky observed, "which means we are screwed."

Steve's smile faded. They were too far behind enemy lines for anything like a rescue, but the information they'd gathered had to get back to the commanders of the Union forces. Last he’d heard, they were holed up by the river, taking on the Confederates. He leaned out, keeping his head low. Repeating fire raked across the ground and he ducked back behind the tree.

He heard liquid swirling, and a phosphorous flask lit up, illuminating Bucky's face. Bucky always did like playing with chemicals, especially the ones that went boom. He cradled the glass flask in his hand and raised his head face to Steve. There was blood at his temple, and his eyes glowed yellow in the darkness. "So, Cap. What do we do?"

Steve leaned back against the wall.

It always felt strange when Bucky called him Cap. It meant they were in even more trouble than usual.

"We need to get word back to the COs," he said.

"Well done, genius," Bucky snorted. "I figured that much." He shook his head. "I swear they only let you sign up because you're pretty."

Steve pressed his knuckles together. The leather of his gloves creaked. "If we split up, we'll halve the chances of getting hit," he said. "You got anything you can use to distract them."

Bucky grinned like a crescent moon. "I think I got a few little tricks up my sleeve," he said. He reached for one of the half-dozen pouches at his bed. "You wanna go left or right?"

Steve glanced out.

Either way, there were guns and repeaters and the forest was burning.

"I'll go right," he said. He held out his hand. "All or nothing, right?"

Bucky just grinned, slapping his hand into Steve's. "I'll be waiting with breakfast when you drag your ass into camp." 

Before Steve could even snort, he was off and running. Steve headed in the opposite direction. He could hear the explosions behind him, the rattle of gunfire, and his heart pounding in his ears. He was a bigger target, and he made himself bigger still, howling and yelling and catching the light with his shield.

It wasn't enough.

He saw the canon turn by the flickering light, and Bucky running, a darting shadow outlined against the flames. He saw the ball whipping across the air, and the phosphorous canisters on Bucky's belt exploded in a blinding flash on impact.

____________________________________________________

**1868 - Washington**

 

The flashbulb went off in front of his eyes.

Steve fought the urge to recoil, blinking. His stage smile was in place, his hands on his hips, and flinching didn't look good for 'The Modern Adam'. He was a war hero and an icon and neither of those things would flinch because of bright light.

“Thank you, Captain!”

Steve raised his hand in a salute that made some of the crowd cheer. He had his lines and his part to play. People saw him as the living embodiment of the Union’s victory, and that meant keeping his mask on, his goggles down, and smiling like he hadn’t left half of himself behind on those bloody battlefields.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Howard Stark’s voice crackled through the speaker, “I present you with The Modern Adam!” There was applause, but Steve was still blinking away the afterglow and the images it brought with it. He came to attention. It was easier. Stark was already into his spiel, “What God created, we perfected! Stark Industries can turn one mealy-mouthed kid into a soldier like this, but with your support, the United States could be defended by a thousand just like him!”

It was all a routine at every one of the expos they had been to, trying to raise funds for more research. 

Stark had even started making noises about shipping out to England or even Paris. Science, he was always saying, doesn’t stop with one big bang, my friend! If you want to keep ahead of the game, you can’t sit on your ass and watch it pass you by. Tortoise and the hare, buddy.

Steve never bothered to correct him about the real moral of the fable.

Most of the speech, he’d heard too many times.

He didn’t really care about the science. The war was won, and people were home. He just couldn’t face going home himself, not to the empty basement he’d shared with his oldest friend. When Stark offered him a place, he took it.

It was a job. 

It put food on the table.

He’d stand and he’d shake hands and he’d pat children on the head or lift them up. He would nod and smile that Captain America smile. He didn’t know why they’d dubbed him that. After all, he’d spent the whole war fighting against people who also called themselves Americans. 

Still, the title stuck and he just stood where he was told to and did what he was told to like a good soldier. 

People came and went. 

Some just wanted a look. Others wanted to see how much he could lift.

A striking red-haired woman chaperoning a group of children stared a little too long and hard at him. He gave her his most professional smile, and received a slight enigmatic one in return before she moved off, kids falling into step behind her like baby ducks behind their mother.

This expo was the last of the summer, and by the time Stark let him retreat back to eat, his uniform was sticking to his back. It was way too hot to be wearing leather over cotton, and he shed the coat as quickly as he could.

There was a small area set aside for techs and engineers. As soon as his helmet was off and his coat was shucked into his trunk, Steve was pretty much as anonymous as any of them. A lot of the engineers and controllers dealing with the engines and airships were big men, so he didn’t look out of place.

There was a cart set up, serving bowls of some kind of stew. It was always safer not to ask what was in it.

He found a corner out of the way, wolfing down the food, then took out his sketching pad. It was one of his few conditions: that Stark provide him with enough paper and charcoal to draw whenever he felt like. It was hard to get good quality stuff, but Stark wanted to keep Steve on side, so he would do whatever it took.

It wasn’t like Stark was completely responsible for the transformation that turned Steve from a ninety pound weakling into the walking talking icon he was now. 

That was down to a doctor who was killed early on in the war. 

Stark’s machines had been part of the procedure, but the stories he was weaving about an army of super soldiers were a daydream without Erskine. Stark needed financing, and if displaying Steve like a prized racehorse would get some support, Stark was more than willing to do it. 

“You displaying?”

Steve looked up in surprise.

Most people in the tech area didn’t speak much to each other, unless they were working on something together.

A man about his own age was standing over him, dressed in the same clothes as pretty much any other engineer: plain shirt, suspenders, and pants with a few too many oil stains. He even had a gear-pack on his back, the leather straps and buckles over his shoulders, holding it all in place. His cap was pushed back high over his dark-skinned face, and he was smiling.

“Huh?” Steve asked.

The man nodded to his sketchbook. “Most people scribbling around here got stuff on show out there.”

Steve snorted, shaking his head. “Being displayed is more accurate.”

The guy screwed up his eyes, scrutinising him, then pointed at him. “Oh, gotcha! You’re that Captain America guy, right? The guy they say saved the Union?”

Steve shrugged. “So they keep telling me.”

The man offered his hand, then hesitated and wiped it on his pants, before offering again. “Sam Wilson. Aviation Development division.” His mouth quirked up at one side. “I’m guessing your name isn’t really ‘America’?”

Steve accepted his hand up, shaking it. “Rogers. Steve Rogers.”

“Well, it’s not much better than America, but we all got our crosses to bear, right?”

Steve couldn’t help grinning. “You got that right,” he said. 

Sam looked him up and down. “You look like you could use a break. I know an exit.”

Steve glanced back at the doorway. Stark would be looking for him soon, but right now, a break sounded like the best thing in the world. “Lead the way.”

The man was as good as his word, and in less than five minutes, they were on the banks of the Potomac. The breeze rose of the water, cool and refreshing, after the stale damp heat of the exhibition hall. 

Sam dropped down to sit on the grass, stretching out his legs. He slid the pack off his back, and leaned back on his arms. “For a bunch of people who can make ships fly and men into muscle men, you’d think they’d figure how to cool down a room, wouldn’t you?” he said.

Steve bent, scooping up a pebble. “You’d think,” he agreed, tossing it. 

It skimmed across the water and Sam whistled in admiration when it bounced neatly up onto the opposite bank.

“You always able to do that? Or was that science too?”

Steve looked self-consciously down at his arms, at least four times as thick as they had been for his whole life up until 61. “I’m good at math. Angles and things,” he said. “I guess it kind of helps me throw like that.”

“And you have that shield, right? How’s that middle ages look working for you?”

Steve couldn’t help chuckling. “Are you always this charming or am I just lucky?”

“Hey, man, you’re speaking to me,” Sam said, shrugging. He was grinning. “Your problem if you don’t like the way I do it.” He sat up, dark eyes dancing. “You do know you’re meant to stay behind it, don’t you? Shields? For shielding?”

“Says the man with a bag of hot air?” Steve challenged, grinning back at him. “Oh, and an airship too.”

Sam looked like he was about to bust something laughing. “Oh, I see what you did, Mr Muscles Sir!”

“Oh, did you?”

It felt strange, laughing and smiling so easily. It had been so damned long since anyone had looked at him as anything but the Captain that having some cocky guy just laughing at him and with him felt good. 

Sam gestured to the patch of grass beside him. “Sit your ass down, Rogers,” he said. “I’m getting a stiff neck.”

Steve settled on the grass, propping his arms on his upraised knees, and turned his face towards the sun. He tried not to pay attention to the people walking on the pathway nearby, muttering things that no man - no matter what colour - deserved to have said about him.

He knew his hearing was good, but Sam’d have to be deaf to ignore their words.

“How long are you going to be here?” he asked, without looking Sam’s way.

“Til the end of the expo,” Sam replied. 

His voice wasn’t quite so bright anymore, and Steve had a feeling it was better not to look after the people who had spoken. They hadn’t just spent years at war and the President hadn’t signed the emancipation act just so some people could talk down at a decent man.

Steve turned and looked at him. “So Airship Development, huh? Nothing on God’s green earth would persuade me to get up in one of those bags of air.”

Sam’s face lit up like fireworks. “Cap,” he said, “there’s nothing like it.”


	2. The Suspicious Valet

With Sam to keep him company, Steve suddenly found the expo a lot more bearable.

Sure, he was still being put on display like a circus monkey, posing and smiling and lifting two women at the same time on a scale - Stark’s idea and the money came rolling in after that little stunt - but at least now, there was someone who wasn’t Stark who’d talk to him like a person.

Of course, they were both kept busy a hell of a lot of the time, but the few chances they got, they’d sit outside, skimming stones across the Potomac, and talking about a life outside of airships and super soldiers.

They both edged around the topic they both knew they were avoiding for almost three weeks before Sam finally pushed them into the middle of it. They were talking about what they would do next, when Sam mentioned the Aviation Division were heading down to the gulf.

“I was thinking of looking up my family down there.”

And there it was.

“You have family in the south?”

Sam didn’t look up at him. “Maybe have. Maybe had,” he said. His voice was quieter than usual. “You had to be wondering, right? I mean, you know how they sold that war to everyone. War on slavery and all that.”

Steve looked down at the stone in his hand, weighting it. “What about you?”

Sam was looking out across the river, his arms propped on his upraised knees. “Born and raised here,” he said. He glanced up at Steve with a quick, crooked smile. “Doesn’t make it any easier, even I was born free up here instead of in a plantation down there.”

Steve nodded. 

The war had done a number on the whole country, and now, there were thousands of mouths to feed and not enough jobs to go around. 

With every day he spent in Sam’s company, he’d heard at least one person muttering about him, and more than once, Sam had to catch his arm to stop him going and giving them a piece of his mind. Without his uniform, he was just some big man. If he had the uniform on, people might have listened.

“Signed up,” Sam added. “Saw some combat. Lost some good people.”

“Too many good people.” Steve could remember a burning forest and the blaze of exploding phosphorous.

They were heading down a darker path than Steve was willing to go down. He hurled the stone and it didn’t even bounce once. Instead, it shattered against a boulder on the far side of the river.

He clenched and unclenched his hands.

Sam just sat there on the grass, quiet, and Steve was grateful. 

Any words wouldn’t have helped at all. They didn’t help back then, when the battle was won, and he’d clawed his way through the blackened forest and the wreckage and hadn’t even been able to find the right body. 

There were too many, in pieces and burned beyond recognition. The repeater guns, the clockwork bombs, the flame-throwers. It was all too much, and all he could do was sink on his knees in the dirt and try to keep from falling apart. 

“You want to see an airship?” Sam finally said. “A real one?”

Steve glanced down at him. “I need to get back inside.”

Steve got up, brushing the grass from his pants. “Screw inside,” he said. “They can do without you for an afternoon, Cap. I could show you a real airship. One of the big ones.”

Steve turned pointedly towards the Capitol, raising his eyebrows. 

There were two of them anchored there, almost nose to nose, spinning slowly in the lazy summer breeze.

Sam just grinned at him. “You ever been inside one?”

“I’m infantry, Sam,” Steve reminded him. “We don’t do flying.”

“And that’s why you miss out on some of the best parts of this world,” Sam said. “How about it? You want to skip out on Ringmaster Stark?”

It was tempting, but when it came down to it, Stark was the reason he still had something to do, and wasn’t just drinking himself into an early grave back in an empty, haunted apartment. He shook his head.

“Maybe another time,” he said. “We both have work to do. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

Sam slapped him warmly on the shoulder. “Don’t you worry about that, Cap,” he said. “I’m a specialist. Even if I decided to go off to New York for a week, they would still welcome me back with…” He hesitated. “Well, not exactly open arms, but they got no one else who can do what I do.”

“You’re that good?”

Sam just grinned at him. “You have no idea,” he said.

“Developing Aviation gear? Screwing fins onto airships?” Steve guessed, taking refuge in the familiarity of the teasing conversation. “Am I close?”

Sam just smiled serenely and shook his head as they walked back towards the hall. “The day you get on an airship with me is the day I show you what I can do,” he said.

“That’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Sam replied, knocking Steve’s shoulder with his. He paused in the doorway, then winced. “Your keeper’s looking for you.”

Steve looked into the rest bay.

Sure enough, Howard Stark was restlessly pacing up and down, looking at his pocket watch, his brow furrowed in frustration. No matter the weather, he always dressed to impress, even if it was as hot as hell. 

It was one of those days and his the starched white collar of his shirt was looking pretty pathetic. He took off his hat and mopped at his brow with a handkerchief, then propped his hat back on at the jaunty angle he liked. 

He was smiling, but anyone who had met Howard Stark knew a smile with teeth like that could also be found on a crocodile.

“Want me to hold him off so you can run?” Sam muttered out the corner of his mouth.

Steve squeezed his shoulder. “I can handle him,” he said. “See you around, Sam.”

He stepped around his friend and headed back towards his employer. 

“Stark.”

“And he appears!” Stark drawled, whirling around to face him. “Have you any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?”

Steve rubbed at his brow. “I went on my break twenty minutes ago, Stark, and you saw me leave then.”

Stark blew out a noisy breath. “Details, details,” he said, waving a hand. “We may have a sponsor, and a rich one.”

Steve’s heart sank. 

Stark’s list of sponsors were extensive, but not all of them followed through. One or two had even said that Captain America was lacking fire. They heard he was a killing machine, but he looked more like a waxwork.

He didn’t know what they wanted of him. It wasn’t as if he was any use now that the war was over and there was no one left to fight. He didn’t really want to fight anymore anyway. He’d lost the best person he’d ever fought for, because he was so eager to go to war. 

Bucky Barnes had been a good man, but he was stupid enough to follow Steve into hell.

No one could have asked for a more loyal friend.

“You want me to get the uniform?” he said.

Stark shook his head. “They want to talk to you not the suit,” he said, both warning and eagerness in his tone. “I think we got someone interested.” He reached up and straightened Steve’s shirt, smoothing it on his shoulders. “You get out there, make a good impression, and if you’re lucky, we’ll be having steak tonight.”

Steve let Stark steer him back out into the convention hall. A few people glanced his way, but without the suit, he was just a tall man with a harried look on his face. 

He was surprised, though, when Howard brought him to a halt in front of a middle-aged black man who looked like he should have been taking their coats at some Governor’s mansion. He was sitting on a stool, and got up, lifting his head.

Steve was used to war wounds, but he’d never seen someone who lost an eye make it so noticeable. The patch covering the man’s eye was intricate, threaded with gears and cogs that were moving like the hands of a pocket watch. It looked like an eye made of metal, alive and watching, and he had to force himself to stop staring.

“You must be Captain Rogers,” the man said, bowing slightly at the waist.

Steve was already extending a hand in greeting. The man looked down at it, then back up at him, a curious look on his face. He closed his hand around Steve’s. His grip was just a little too firm, his dark eye on Steve’s face.

“Former Captain,” Steve corrected. “Stark just likes the title. I stood down after the war.”

The man nodded slowly. “I’m here on behalf of my Mistress,” he said with a wry twist of his lips that almost suggested job title rather than description. “Miss Hillard, lately of New York, has professed an interest in meeting you, Captain Rogers.”

Steve looked him up and down. There was something about him that was a bit to sharp to be just a valet. Sure, his suit looked like an average valet’s, but there was something about the cut, the tailoring, that was far too expensive for just a house man.

“What interest could Miss Hillard have in me?”

Stark flung an arm around his shoulders. “What interest wouldn’t a lady have?” he said. 

Steve looked at him impatiently and to his surprise, he noticed that the man did too.

“Might I have a word with the Captain alone, Mister Stark?” There was something in the man’s tone which was definitely not just a valet speaking, something deadly, and something that even someone as boldly direct as Stark couldn’t miss.

Stark spread his hands, smiling a bit too broadly. He always did when he wasn’t sure quite what was happening. “Of course, of course,” he said. “You just make sure you get my boy back to me in one piece.”

The man watched him until he was out of sight. “How the hell did he even figure out how to make an engine?” he asked.

Steve couldn’t help snorting. “He’s a smart man, Mr…?”

That sharp black eye was back on his face. “Fury. Nicholas.”

“So, Mr Fury,” Steve folded his arms over his chest. “You going to tell me why your mistress wants to see me?”

Fury looked at him for a long while. “That’s something she’ll tell you in person,” he said. “She’ll pay you well for your time, and if you aren’t interested, I’ll let you get back to your career as a sideshow display.”

I’ll let you, Steve noticed.

Sounded like Miss Hillard wasn’t the only one pulling strings.

He rubbed his chin, glancing back towards the booth that was his temporary home. 

It couldn’t hurt to go and see what the lady wanted, and if worst came to worst, he’d be paid and Howard could at least get that steak he was so desperate for.

“Sure,” he said. “I can spare a couple of hours.”


	3. The Lady in Blue

Miss Hillard was staying at a hotel downtown.

Fury had a carriage waiting outside of the convention hall. It was small, nondescript, more like a cart with a cover than anything else. The horse was dressed down, the reins and harnesses worn and old leather, not worth a look.

“Not looking to draw attention?” Steve said, as Fury touched the whip to the mare’s flank.

“I find it’s better not to, Captain.”

Steve glanced at him and the glittering, whirling cogs on his eyepatch. “You may not be doing the greatest job there.”

Fury’s mouth curved in a slight smile. “If they’re just staring at my eye, they’re not paying enough attention,” he said, steering them out onto the roadway, avoiding the pedestrians and the handful of other carts.

At first, Steve tried to start conversations, to try and get some idea of what Fury’s employer wanted, but all Fury would tell him was that he would find out when get got there. Silence was easier than sounding like one of the crowd at the show, demanding to see something new.

Fury left the carriage standing at the bottom of the steps and a bellboy ran down to take the reins. Fury ignored him and motioned for Steve to follow him into the lobby. 

The place was huge, all rich drapes and chandeliers. Steve saw the cursory way the doorman looked them both over, and couldn’t help noticing how Fury curled his shoulders and lowered his head in a show of feigned humility as he crossed the polished floor.

He led Steve through to a private parlour, holding the door open for him.

The room inside was quiet, with just one table. A room for private conversations and trysts, Steve thought uncomfortably. If Miss Hillard was seeking his company like other women had before, he was more than willing to walk all the way back across the city to get back to the expo building.

A woman was standing beside the window.

She was much more elegant than any woman he’d ever seen, her back straight and her dark blue dress rich and ornamented. At best guess, she was perhaps a couple of years older than him. 

Dark hair was twisted up in an elegant coil at the back of her head, and when she turned, he saw the glimpse of metal within the cuff of her sleeves. The steely look in her eye told him this was no lady to be trifled with.

Behind him, Fury closed the door with a quiet click.

“Captain Rogers,” Miss Hillard said. “I’m glad you could come.”

Steve watched her curiously. “Mr Fury hasn’t exactly told me why I’m here,” he said. “Just that his mistress wanted to meet me.”

If he hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn’t have seen the irritated look she flashed at the man behind him. “Really, Nicholas? You’re still playing that card?”

Fury walked across the room, sitting down at the table. “It stops awkward questions,” he said, leaning back in the chair and looking at Steve. “But you already figured out that much, didn’t you, Captain?”

Steve remained standing where he was, folding his hands behind his back. “I did wonder,” he admitted. “You don’t carry yourself like a valet, and I’ve never seen anyone speak to Stark the way you did.” He clasped one hand around the other. “Are you going to tell me why I’m here?”

Fury gestured to the other chair. “Take a seat, Captain.”

Steve glanced at Miss Hillard. “Let the lady have the seat,” he said. “I’ve stood before. I can again.”

Miss Hillard’s stern face softened slightly. “An honest-to-goodness gentleman, Captain?” she said, drawing back from the window and returning to the table. “I haven’t seen one of those in a long while.” 

Steve lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I was always told to treat ladies with respect.”

She settled in the second chair at the table, and folded her hands together on the tabletop, the lace gloves pale against the polished wood. She didn’t say anything more, but he had the feeling he’d earned a measure of her approval.

Steve turned his attention back to Fury. “Sir?”

That got him another wry twist of Fury’s mouth. “No need for that, soldier,” Fury said. “I got you here because we have a need of you. Everyone saw what you could do during the war. I don’t think you’re meant to be a display at sciences expos, do you?”

Steve’s right hand tightened around his left. “I don’t have any war left to fight,” he said. “We have peace now. What I can do isn’t needed anymore.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Miss Hillard said. “On the surface, the war is done with, but it’s not over, not by a long way.”

Steve’s stomach felt like it was twisting. “I don’t understand.”

Hillard reached beneath the table and picked up a leather dossier. It was as thick as Steve’s wrist, and she laid it on the table, opening it out. Steve stepped closer, looking down at the documents in the file. There were mentions of small attacks, of fires that the news sheets reported as accidents, of shipping accidents. Little things that no one would notice.

“The Union is fragile, Captain,” Fury said. “There are those in the South who still want to undermine its authority and return us back to the state of things before the war. They don’t show themselves with flags or parades or make their intentions clear, but they’re cutting at the roots of this nation, trying to stop it growing.”

Steve turned the pages of the dossier. There were images and prints. Maps. Sketches of figures. Blueprints of machinery that looked almost like Stark’s technology. Names and places and titles. So much information.

“What is it you’re asking me to do?” he asked, drawing his hand back.

“We’re asking you to be Captain America again,” Fury said. One of his hands was resting on the table, and he was tapping his fingertips on the surface. “There may not be any war to fight, but we need good people to keep this country safe from threats that the civilians can’t know about. If they knew, there would be panic. We need things calm and stable.” He motioned to the dossier. “The people in these files, they’re threatening that. We need someone to stand against them.”

Steve looked at him. “You know where these threats are. Why do you need someone like me?”

Fury’s mouth curved, and Steve had a feeling he’d asked the right question. “Because they have people we can’t get a hand on,” he said. “People like you. They never managed what Erskine and Stark did with you, but they have people who are strong. People who are faster than they should be. People that no ordinary soldier could take on.”

People like you.

That was a terrifying prospect.

Exhilarating but terrifying.

He walked around the table to the window, sitting back against the window ledge. “How many of you are there?” he asked. “I’m okay at math, but even I know three people against a threat like this isn’t good odds.” 

“We’re a small organisation,” Miss Hillard said, “but there are enough of us. We have eyes and ears all the way up to the highest level.”

An undercover organisation with government links. 

Steve was unsurprised.

“And am I officially assigned somewhere, if I agree?” he asked. 

Fury and Miss Hillard exchanged glances. 

“You would work on assignments based on intelligence we received,” Fury said. “Sometimes, we get advanced notice of impending activities from our associates in the south. Our job is stopping the confederate forces before they even get started.”

Steve ran his hand over his jaw, looking down at the dossier.

Even if it meant going back into the fight, it was a job. 

More importantly than that, it was for the sake of the country, which was already so fragile. That was why he and Bucky had signed up to begin with. To step back and say he wouldn’t do anything more felt like a betrayal of everything he and Bucky had fought for.

“I have one condition,” he said to Fury. “Stark. You find somewhere for him as well.”

Fury raised his eyebrow. “You think he’d want in?”

“He was part of Project Rebirth,” Steve said. “Some of the machines you have in that folder look like his kind of designs. He might be able to help you with that side of things.” He straightened up from the window. “If I come, he comes. He’s kept me going this far. It’s only fair I return the favour.”

Fury glanced at Hillard, who nodded curtly. “Some of his designs are innovative,” she said. “He could make himself useful, and if he doesn’t, we let him go.” She met Steve’s eyes. “If he joins us, he has to pull his own weight.”

“He will,” Steve said. “He lives for work.”

Fury drummed his fingertips on the table, a frown furrowing his brow. “You get Mr Stark to join us, and you’re both in,” he said. “But like Hillard says, he has to make it worth our while. We didn’t come for him, Rogers. We came for you.”

Steve nodded. “Understood,” he said. He hesitated, then asked, “Where will we be based? Do you have a camp?”

Fury rose and approached him by the window, drawing back the drapes. “Look out there, Captain,” he said. “What do you see?”

Steve stared out at the sky. “You have got to be kidding.”

In the afternoon light, the airship turned slowly in the breeze.

“That going to be a problem, soldier?”

Steve looked back at the man, knowing that if he answered yes, food, lodgings, and work could be snatched away. “No, sir,” he said, “but I’ve never been in an airship before.”

Fury struck him firmly on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.”

Steve looked back out the window and up at the ship.

“Yeah,” he said.

Sam, he knew, was going to laugh himself sick.


	4. The Showman

They had two days to pack up their gear.

Stark was like a kid with a fresh bag of candy when he found out.

That was when Steve realised how close they’d been skating to the edge. 

Stark was putting everything on the line with the expo, but he always played like everything was great. It was only when Steve saw the relief in his eyes, and saw the tension fall away from him that Steve realised just how bad things were.

Stark had lost a lot of weight since the last expo, and always insisted it was because he was running around all the time. 

Now Steve thought about it, Stark always made sure that Steve had enough to eat, but Steve couldn’t remember how often he’d seen Stark eating too. Sure, they’d found some sponsors, but Stark was all about the work, and almost every bit of the funding went into that.

Even the fact they were going in an airship didn’t bother him.

Steve was still uncomfortable with the idea.

He’d heard stories and he’d seen more than one of the ships go down in flames when the huge clockwork guns tore through them like paper. Stark just waved away his concerns, babbling about advances, and stronger surface material and all kind of technical things that went right over Steve’s head. 

All he needed to know was that the thing could stay airborne, and Stark insisted that it would.

It felt weird to pack up the stall and the caravan that had been their home for weeks and months. Stark already had someone ready to buy it over, and they were only taking the bare essential. 

In Stark’s case, that included five cases of tools and machinery. 

In Steve’s case, it was nothing more than the drawing book and the uniform in its plain wooden trunk.

“Last day, Captain,” Stark said happily on their final morning. “A whole new adventure.”

Steve lifted the cowl of his uniform, looking at it. “Do I have to do this?”

Stark looked at him reproachfully. “We promised them a final day to see the Cap,” he said. “I can’t let the public down now. We can’t let the public down.” He slapped Steve firmly on the shoulder. “Look at it this way: you won’t have to do it again.”

“I guess,” Steve said, lifting the cowl into place.

Stark looked him up and down. “Got to sell yourself,” he said firmly, straightening the lines of Steve’s heavy jacket. “People pay attention to you, Cap. Make sure they don’t forget.”

Those words rattled around in Steve’s head as he stood and posed and smiled his showman smile. People pay attention. Make sure they don’t forget. Stark was right. People did pay attention to him when he was in the suit. People watched and people listened and people thought he spoke for them.

People followed where he led. People liked what he said.

He stepped down from the booth suddenly.

The crowd opened up around him, staring.

“Who wants to come and see the expo with me?” he called out. “Who wants to see what our scientists and technicians can do to keep us great?”

It was only one or two at first, but by the time he was halfway around the hall, hailing the people who had been working as hard as he had for the whole month, people were trailing along after him, looking where he looked, listening to what he said.

The last exhibit - entirely on purpose - was the airship display of the Aviation Development unit. The techs straightened up under their miniature models. The suits in charge looked around in confusion at Steve’s captive audience. 

And in the middle of the group, Steve could see Sam.

“Hey,” he said, pointing at Sam. He saw the flicker in Sam’s eye, the warning that said don’t you even dare. “You. Maybe you could tell these good people about the Aviation unit? You look like you know a thing or two about it.”

“Oh, I surely do, as well you know,” Sam said, walking forward, with murder in his eyes.

Steve grinned at him. “Well, we all know Captain America fights on the ground. I don’t know a thing about these floating airbags, but I bet these people would like to know how they’re going to defend our country.”

“Maybe I could help, Captain,” one of the suits spoke up.

Steve turned his most charming smile on the man. “Sir, no offence to you, but this young fella looks like he knows how to get his hands dirty. That’s the kind of person I’d like to hear from: someone who gets right in the middle of it. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, sir.”

Stark was right.

People looked at the uniform and they listened. 

With Steve by his side, Sam finally got the audience he deserved. People listened and nodded and when he was done, Steve made sure that everyone in the area saw him shake Sam’s hand, his other hand firmly on Sam’s shoulder.

As the crowd drifted away, Sam stepped alongside him, watching them go.

“I’m gonna kill you, Rogers,” he said under his breath, still smiling amiably and waving to a small child.

“C’mon, Sam,” Steve said, slapping him firmly on the back. “Like you didn’t enjoy it.”

Sam rolled his eyes at him. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a jackass.”

Steve’s smile faltered, just a little. “Only one person,” he said.

Sam could always tell when his mood shifted. “Thanks,” he said finally. “I know why you did it. You didn’t need to.”

Steve looked at him. “You’re my friend, Sam,” he said. “They don’t listen to Steve Rogers, but maybe Captain America can open a few eyes. Let them see they shouldn’t treat you the way they do.”

Sam knocked Steve’s shoulder with his own. “Yeah. I got that.” He looked him up and down. “This the last time I’m going to see your stripy ass?”

“Probably,” Steve said reluctantly. “We’ve got a new posting. No idea where.”

Sam turned to him and offered his hand. “Well, if you’re ever down south, look to the skies,” he said. “You might see me.”

“I could say the same,” Steve said, shaking Sam’s hand firmly. “Why the hell they want me on an airship, I’ll never know.”

“Oh, I know,” Sam said, grinning just a little too wide. “They want to see you holding onto the rail and crying for your momma.”

Steve gave him a look. “What kind of sissy do you think I am, Wilson?”

“The kind who hasn’t been in an airship and won’t stop making a big deal about it,” Sam replied with a laugh. “Hell, if we run into each other again, maybe you’ll finally get to see what I do. Maybe that’ll make you stop complaining.”

Steve eyed him. “You’re not going to tell me, are you? What you do?”

Sam shook his head with a smug grin. “Nope. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

They stood there in silence for a moment, then both of them moved forward at the same time, embracing each other and slapping each other firmly on the back.

“Don’t get in too much trouble, Cap,” Sam said, stepping back. “Wouldn’t want to have to do an air rescue.”

“I’d say the same about ground rescue,” Steve retorted with a smile.

Sam pulled up to attention. “Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve couldn’t help laughing. “I don’t know why I bother with you,” he said.

“Because you need someone to keep your head small,” Sam said, grinning. “Good luck, Cap.”

“You too, Sam.”

He didn’t look back as he walked away.

It was better that way, leaving on a good note. No flash and flame and canonball. Just a nice, simple goodbye. Yeah. That was better.


	5. The Sharp-Shooter

Mobile, Alabama

 

The steam ship rested like a leviathan in the dock. The only sounds were the dull tolling of the ship's bell and the slap of the water against the hull. A handful of people were visible on the deck, illuminated by gas lanterns.

In the shadows of the warehouse, Steve drew down his goggles.

"Ready, Cap?" Deeper in the shadows, his companion was invisible.

The man, Barton, was one of the crew who greeted him when he boarded the airship. Steve remembered him from the Expo. He was one of a team of crackshots, displaying the target capabilities of steam-powered repeater crossbows and advanced rifles. 

Turned out, he was one of the people Fury had sent to keep an eye on Steve.

One of.

That meant there were more, and that made Steve edgy, but right now, Fury was keeping him and Stark fed and sheltered and working. Stark was happy and Steve was occupied, and Barton was too likeable to remain angry with him.

He wasn’t much younger than Steve, but he acted like he was little more than a kid. He wore leather all the time, pants and jerkin, but he never covered his arms. Said it threw off his aim. Steve had seen him use an old-fashioned long-bow, and watching the way the muscles drew in Barton’s arms. No wonder no one questioned him about it, even in the dead of winter.

He had a cloak he used, the only allowance he would make to get Hillard off his back, but any other time, he was just in his tunic, quiver of arrows at his back, crossbow bolts at his thigh, and bullets and musket balls and god only knew what else in straps criss-crossing his chest.

Barton could pretty much fire anything he was given.

Bow, crossbow, gun, cannon, with or without the gleaming lenses he sometimes flicked down over his eyes for precision. They made him look like some kind of half-wild bird under his thatch of shaggy, blonde hair, and when he took to the highest vantage points, cloak wrapped around him like wings, Steve could almost believe he was pure hunting bird.

Fury said he was the best marksman they had.

Now, he was Steve's wingman.

“I need you to create a distraction,” Steve murmured to him. “At the bow of the ship.”

“The pointy end, right?”

Steve looked at him, and Barton’s grin shone in the darkness. “Yes,” he said. “The pointy end. No fatalities unless absolutely necessary.”

Barton looked around them thoughtfully, then started climbing the loading rig behind them. 

It was easier not to ask why any of Fury or Hillard’s people acted the way they did. They had no official title, but most referred to themselves as the Irregulars, and Steve was beginning to see why. Fury himself led the charge.

Several minutes later, there was a crash from the bow.

Some of the people on the deck hurried towards it.

"Moving in," Steve murmured into his transponder. The device was attached to his wrist. He had no idea how it worked, but his words were relayed directly to the airship. He turned the dial to silence the crackle of static.

The target wasn't the ship itself.

The target was the cargo.

The vessel was fresh in from the Caribbean, and according to Fury and Hillard's sources, it was carrying a deadly weapon. They didn't have many details, only that it was volatile, and that their enemies intended to unleash it on a civilian population for maximum casualties.

Steve's role was to neutralise it, and destroy it before it could be used.

Steve ran, light as a cat, through the shadows. The gangplank was lowered, but they had guards at the top. Not obvious guards, but men who were loitering in a way that just wasn't casual enough. Barton had diverted the rest, but those two remained where they were.

He dived from the pier down into the cold, black water. 

It closed over him with barely a sound and he swam out to the anchor chain. The links were large as his forearm, easy to climb, but slick with algae. That was an anticipated difficulty. Stark had provided gloves with a ridged grip, and Steve climbed silently.

He swung over the stern, the lined soles of his boots cushioned on the metal of the deck. No one called out or came running, which was a good start. He darted along the deck, and the guards were the first - and only - to notice him.

He leapt from the top of the staircase, tackling one of the men to the ground, his weight and impact cracking the man’s head back against the deck, knocking him out cold. The other man barely had a chance to draw breath to call for back-up, when Steve’s shield hit him beneath the ribs, driving all the air out of him in a wheeze.

A second blow to the face laid him out on the deck alongside his comrade. One touch to the shield stilled the vibrations.

Steve looked around warily.

No one had noticed.

The weapon was being held below, she he ran for the stairs that led downwards, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. It was likely to be defended, and defended well, Fury warned. A weapon so powerful would be valuable to either side.

The metal of the gridded stairs rattled beneath his feet, and guards came running.

Gas lanterns flared along the walls of the ship’s corridor, illuminating it all, and leaving Steve with nowhere to hide.

Hiding was never his strong point anyway.

He turned to face them, shield in front of him, and inclined his head. “Fellas.”

There were four of them, and the corridor was way too narrow for them all to attack, but god bless them, they tried. They piled one behind the other, guns all over the place, a shameful disgrace to whoever trained them.

All he had to do was tilt his shield against the bullets and two of them managed to shoot each other without even trying. They folded, yowling, and he stepped over them, kicking each in the head in passing to shut them up. 

Two guns still pointed at him, the cogs whirring. 

“Back off!” One of the guards was shaking. “You can’t go down there.”

Steve laughed quietly. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, tossing a stun grenade over the shield and ducking down, pressing his eyes closed. Even with the disc of vibranium protecting him, the vibrations shook him down his bones.

The two guards were both on the floor, moaning and twitching. One was bleeding from the nose, and the other had his hands closed over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut, faint, stifled whimpers escaping him.

Boots rattled on the stairs behind him and he turned, his pistol up.

Barton held up his hands. “Easy, Cap,” he said. “Came to help out.”

“You were meant to keep them distracted,” Steve snapped, slipping his gun back into the holster at his hip.

Barton chuckled. “Trust me, Cap,” he said. “They will be, given how many of them have gone swimming.” 

Steve managed to get halfway down the next flight of stairs before he looked back. “What did you do?”

Barton scratched at the back of his head. “You did your big flash and bang,” he said. “Try doing it on a dozen people leaning over the end of a boat, trying to see what was going on in the water.”

“Ship,” Steve corrected, shaking his head with a rueful grin.

“Big floating thing,” Barton retorted smugly. “Anyway, three went into the water and last time I checked, the other five were trying to figure out how to turn their eyeballs the right way around to see, so I figure…”

Steve’s hand was over his mouth. 

Steve grabbed the handle of the next door, pulling it back and slamming it shut in two sharp movements. A yelp of pain from the other side said that another guard was taken care of.

“You’ve got ears like a bat,” Barton said appreciatively.

“And you run at the mouth like a kid,” Steve said, pulling the door open again. “If you’re coming with me, you have to be quiet, okay?”

Barton shoved him to one side, a one-shot crossbow leaping up in his arm. It fired, sparking, and hit a shape in the shadows. Blue lightning crawled across the shape, which folded down, sprawling on the floor.

“Quiet’s good,” he agreed, hopping lightly over the body just inside the door. “After you, Cap.”

“What the hell was that?” Steve asked in a low voice, as they crept down the corridor.

“Electro-charged bolts,” Barton replied just as quietly. “You like? I’d say I could get you some, but they’re all mine.”

“Could be useful,” Steve murmured. He motioned for Barton to stop.

There was a door ahead of them, barred and bolted and even chained. 

“Think that could be the place?”

“Mm.” Barton drew back a step, a gun materialising in his hand. “Secure enough.”

Barton took the watch as Steve levered and dragged the bars and bolts out of the way. They moved smoothly, but they were heavy. Whatever they were keeping inside, they didn’t want any lone operative to reach it. He heaved on a lever, cogs and gears shifting and groaning as it pulled the chains aside one by one.

“You’d think they didn’t want someone to steal it, wouldn’t you?” Barton said, his back to Steve, his eyes on the door.

“Looks like,” Steve ground out through clenched teeth as he pushed at the doors with all his strength.

It had to be big and powerful to be so securely defended. Maybe some kind of new gun or perhaps a bomb. Bombs were getting popular, especially ones that burned. Maybe even a sickness, like the blankets with smallpox, but on a bigger scale.

The doors creaked open little by little, and Steve took a breath before stepping in.

He didn’t know what he’d expected.

He definitely hadn’t expected a man, pale and thin and gaunt, shackled to the wall at wrist, ankle, and throat.

Pale eyes flickered open and cracked lips broke into a smile. “You’re new,” the man said in a whisper.


	6. The Missing Doctor

The man was unconscious.

Steve had him slung over his shoulder as he walked down the gangplank.

In the dark of the hold, he and Barton had stared at the man. He was the weapon, Barton said. The one they'd been warned about. Even he looked uncertain about how they were meant to proceed. They'd come to destroy some kind of gun or bomb and instead, they had a man. 

Steve took a long look at the emaciated figure, chained like an animal, barely conscious.

His shield shattered each of the restraints with one blow.

There was a small boat tied up, hidden in the shadow of the dock. 

Steve climbed down lightly, the boat rocking beneath his feet as he crouched to lay down the unfortunate man. Barton was at the back of the boat and in the quiet of the night, Steve could hear the click of the engine being wound up. It rattled to life. Barton sank the propellers into the water, and they coasted - almost silently - from the docks and out into the black water of the open sea.

There were a cluster of uninhabited islets not far off-shore. Far enough for an airship to dock without anyone paying it much attention, but close enough that a clockwork boat could make it on only three turns of the mechanism.

Steve watched for the glow of the lights.

Three lanterns marking the safe passage.

He didn’t need to look.

Barton could see better than he could. All he had to do was crouch over their passenger when Barton took a turn too sharply to avoid the rocks. It would pretty damn stupid to save a man just to drown him on the outward journey.

The boat banked up on shale when they reached the islands. Steve scrambled out, dragging the boat as far up the shore as he could. There was short, wiry grass that had to be above the tideline, so he figured that was as far as it needed to be.

“You think we should have called ahead to let them know we’re bringing guests?” Barton said, his voice a bit to bright and nervous. “I’ve been in trouble before now for that, Cap.”

Steve bent over the side of the boat to hoist the unconscious man onto his back. “If anyone wants to complain, you point them my way,” he said. “This one’s on me.”

“Literally,” Barton agreed, crunching after him up the loose pebbles.

Overhead, the airship was a shadow against the stars and moon.

A lot of the crew stayed on board, but Fury and Hillard tended to set up land-based camps whenever they could. They had a camp on the island, a dozen scattered tents, and Fury and Hillard’s command tent set to one side.

“You might want to stop where you are.”

Steve froze at a voice from the shadows. Female. Unfamiliar. 

It was sloppy, not to check his surroundings, and he heard Barton swear under his breath as well. 

Steve glanced sidelong and saw metal shining on the barrel of a revolver. Its owner was invisible in the darkness. He could barely even pick out her silhouette. Slight, slender, dressed up in blacks and greys. There was a hint of red. He couldn’t guess what that was.

“Returning from the mission,” he said. “Forgot to switch on my comm.”

The gun was lowered. “It happens,” the woman said. “But not more than once, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, lifting his finger to knuckle his brow respectfully.

“Didn’t know you were bringing back strays, Barton,” she added.

“Don’t ask me, Miss,” Barton said raising his hands. “Cap’s decision.”

“And you fought him for it, I’m sure.” For a moment, there was a burr in her voice, something warm and southern, and not quite in keeping with a silhouette in the moonlight. “Captain, Fury will be waiting for you in the command tent.”

Steve nodded at once, shifting the weight of the man on his shoulder. “Let him know I’ll be in the medical bay,” he said. “He can find me there.”

Barton drew a breath between his teeth. “Cap…”

“Fury can wait,” Steve replied firmly. “This man can’t.”

He didn’t wait to see what they said or did. He just set off into the camp, picking his way through the tents until he found the med bay and the one physician they had to hand. He laid their guest down on one of the canvas palettes and stepped back, folding his arms over his chest as the doc went to work.

The prisoner was older than Steve, but he couldn’t tell how much. The man was gaunt, almost every one of his ribs visible through his pale, bruised skin. There were weals around his wrists, ankles, and neck. Steve didn’t want to begin to imagine how long a man needed to be shackled to end up with wounds like that. It had to be weeks at least, if not months.

He wasn’t surprised when Fury pushed back the canvas flap of the tent less than two minutes later, his expression unreadable.

“Captain. You want to tell me why you brought back a civilian into my camp?”

Steve’s forefinger was curled against his lower lip, as he watched the doctor checking the patient’s vitals. “You want to tell me why the weapon you sent me after was nothing but a half-starved man?” he asked.

Fury stared at him, then turned to the bed, striding over to look down at the man. He grabbed the doctor by the shoulder, pulling him to his feet. “Get Hillard in here,” he snapped. “Now.” A sharp looked flashed around the tent. “Everyone out. Cap, you stay put.”

Steve frowned as the tent cleared. “What is it, Fury?” he asked.

Fury held up a hand, and crouched down beside the bed. “I’m not sure,” he said quietly. “Keep your voice low, Rogers.”

They were still standing like that, stiff, silent, terse, when Hillard arrived. Steve averted his eyes politely. It had taken getting used to, seeing Hillard’s combat clothing. Her heavy skirts peeled away to reveal breeches so snug they might have been painted on.

“Nicholas?”

Fury beckoned her closer. “Is this who I think it is?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

Steve was watching her face, and he saw how pale she went. “My god,” she whispered. “They said he was dead.” She crouched down on the opposite side of the bed. “Where did he come from?”

Fury jerked a thumb at Steve. “Rogers says he was the weapon.”

Hillard glanced at Steve, then at Fury. “They wouldn’t have dared,” she breathed. “They knew he was affiliated with the Union. If they used him… there would have been hell to pay, if he was found after…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Six months, Nicholas. That’s when he disappeared. They must have had him.”

“Had?” 

All three of them turned at the voice from the bed. It was weak, hoarse.

The man’s eyes were still closed, but his face had turned towards Hillard.

“Past tense?”

“Looks that way, doctor,” Hillard said lightly. She sounded calm, but Steve could see the tension in her whole body by the light of the gas lanterns. Something about the man in the bed frightened her, and Steve was coming to learn that it took a lot to frighten Miss Hillard. She hesitated, then carefully placed her hand on the man’s. “Are you in any pain?”

The man shook his head. “No more than usual,” he whispered, his voice a dry rasp. She filled a glass from a pitcher by the bed, and helped him drink. He opened his eyes, the whites yellowed and bloodshot, and looked to Steve. “You, sir. You got me out?”

Steve lowered his arms by his sides. “Yes, sir.”

The man twitched his fingers, beckoning.

Steve moved closer, into the pale light.

“So this is him,” the man whispered. “The model soldier.” He laughed hoarsely. “You have no idea the stories I heard about you, my boy.”

That wasn’t a big surprise.

Everyone and their mother had heard of Captain America.

“Wish I could say the same, sir,” Steve said. “You were something of a surprise.”

The man’s brow furrowed and he squinted at Hillard. “You didn’t send him to find me?”

“We didn’t know you were still alive,” Hillard replied quietly. “We were looking for a weapon.”

The man’s eyes fell closed. “Of course you were,” he murmured. He took a long, slow breath, drawing his hand from Hillard’s and rubbing at his chest slowly. “Well, then, it looks like I owe you a thank you, Captain.”

“Glad I could help, sir,” Steve replied.

“Please,” the man murmured, “call me Bruce. Bruce Banner.”


	7. The Unspoken Threat

Banner was resting in the medical tent.

Fury and Hillard were in the command tent, alone.

Something was going on and Steve didn’t know what it was.

Banner was one of their people, from what he could tell, but Hillard and Fury were treading around him like they were walking on eggshells. Barton couldn’t tell him what the deal was, and no one else in the camp knew who their guest was.

Steve pushed his way into the command tent.

“Something happening, soldier?” Fury asked.

“Just got some questions I want answered,” Steve replied. “Like why Doctor Banner was classified as a weapon.”

Fury was silent for a long while, his fingertips pressing to the table top. “The Doctor has some particular skills that our friends wanted to make use of,” he said. “That’s irrelevant now that he’s out of enemy hands.”

Steve glanced at Miss Hillard. “And you’re afraid of him. Why?”

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “For exactly the reasons they intended to use him,” she said. “We’re going to get him back to civilisation and safety, but once he’s in the wind, Captain, you have to forget you ever met him. For your sake as well as his.”

Steve looked between them, then shook his head. They were good at keeping their secrets, the two of them, and if they didn’t want him to know something, he was pretty sure he would never ever know it.

He headed back out into the camp and to the fire where the cook was rustling up a stew. It was basic fare, but filling, with hunks of bread handed out with every bowl.

Howard Stark was already there, wolfing down a bowl. He was sitting on a rock by the fire, talking animatedly to Barton between mouthfuls. Something about propulsion. Weapons talk, the kind of thing Steve never really needed to do.

“Hey! Cap! I hear you had success?” he called over.

“I guess you could call it that,” Steve agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Stark, you heard of someone called Bruce Banner?”

Stark’s eyes widened in astonishment, and to Steve’s surprise, he set down his bowl, and left his meal behind. He looked around warily, then grabbed Steve by the arm and hustled him into the shadows.

“Where’d’you hear that name?” he demanded in a low voice. 

“From the man himself,” Steve replied just as quietly. “Fury and Hillard are on edge about him, but they won’t say why.”

“I bet they won’t,” Stark muttered grimly. “The man’s a science experiment that went wrong, Rogers. A hell of a lot of people were trying to do what Erskine did. Some of them were brilliant scientists, but none of them got it right, and when it went wrong, it went really, really wrong.”

Steve shook his head in confusion. “But he’s just a sick guy,” he said. “He can’t even stand.”

Stark was pale in the shadows. “He’s here? Jesus H Christ.” He glanced around. “You don’t want to be around that guy when he gets his strength back, Rogers. Trust me on that. I heard what happened to him. He needs to be somewhere quiet and out of the way, where no one will bother him.”

“Yeah, I keep getting told that,” Steve said wearily. “But why? What did he do?”

“You heard one of the bridges collapsing in Philadelphia, a couple of years back? Some kind of natural accident, they said, right?” Steve nodded. “Wrong. If I heard right, Banner was behind it. So it was technically an accident, but only because he didn’t do it deliberately.”

“Stark, cryptic isn’t helping.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Stark replied. “He gets bad and he gets strong, and I’ve seen the results. It’s all been covered up by everyone. I only heard rumours, and whatever it is that actually happens, it’s not good.”

And whatever it was, it was enough for the Confederate renegades to try and use him.

Steve nodded slowly, patting Stark on the shoulder. “I guess I shouldn’t dig,” he said. “You get back to your meal.”

Stark headed back to the fire, cussing out Barton who had stolen his bowl.

Steve went to the cook instead, filling two bowls and taking two pieces of bread, and went back to the medical tent. 

The gas lamps were turned low, and the tent was deserted. Banner was lying on his side, his back to the opening of the tent. Steve could see the way his shoulders tensed up when the flaps opened.

“Just me, Doctor,” he said quietly. “You hungry?”

Banner twisted to look at him. “You’re probably not meant to be in here,” he said.

Steve shrugged, approaching the bed. “Got nowhere else to be right now,” he said, dragging a stool closer with his foot and sitting down on it. He held out one of the bowls to the doctor. “I figured you could probably use some company.”

With effort, Banner pulled himself up into a sitting position on the bed. He was wearing a shirt that was too big for him and did nothing to hide his wasted chest. “I won’t say no,” he agreed, carefully taking the bowl of stew. “Thank you.”

Steve dug into his own bowl. It had been a long day and he was starving.

Banner was silent as he ate too, but Steve could feel the man’s eyes on him.

“Miss Hillard told you to keep your distance,” Banner finally said, soaking some of the bread in the juices. “Didn’t she?”

“Miss Hillard and Mr Fury tell me a lot of things,” Steve replied honestly, “and miss out the things I want to know about.” He looked up, meeting Banner’s eyes. “They tell me you’re dangerous.”

Banner laughed hoarsely. “They’re not wrong.”

“What does that make them? Or me?” Steve countered. “It’s just a scale with different amounts of danger weighed against us.”

Banner’s mouth turned up, creases appearing in his cheeks. It might have been a smile. “That’s either the most cynical or the most optimistic thing I have ever heard in my life,” he said. He shook his head, chuckling. “They know they have a thinker on their ship?”

Steve snorted. “They know,” he said. “They just don’t let it bother them.” He hesitated. “No, they just pretend like it’s not the case. It bothers them.”

Banner raised his bowl in a mocking toast. “To bothering people,” he said. 

“And then some,” Steve agreed, knocking the edge of his clay bowl against Banner’s. “You want some more? There’s plenty left over.”

Banner glanced into the bowl. “Please,” he said. “I’ve been living on slops for months.”

Steve headed back out into the camp to fetch a refill, and stopped short. Tents were being taken down, and fires were being damped. He managed to snag another bowl of stew before the cook had to drag it onto the frame to be hoisted up onto the ship.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “We weren’t meant to ship out until morning.”

“Orders from Hillard,” the cook said with a shrug. “We’re clearing out now.”

Steve ran back to the medical bay, handing the bowl onto Banner, who cradled it close with both hands. “Don’t go anywhere, doc,” he said, pressing a hand briefly to the man’s thin shoulder. “I need to find out what’s going on around here.”

It took him all of ten minutes to find Hillard giving orders on the ship.

“Miss Hillard.”

“Captain,” she replied evenly. “You might want to pack up your belongings. We’re moving out.”

“I see that,” he said. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the medical tent. “Can’t help noticing that one is being left behind.”

Miss Hillard’s features tightened. “You have to do what’s necessary for your crew, Rogers,” she said abruptly. “If that means leaving him behind to be picked up by a sea crew later, I’ll do it.”

“The poor bastard’s been alone in a cage for months and now, you’re abandoning him on an island in the middle of nowhere? With the promise that someone’ll come by and pick him up some time? What the hell did he do to deserve that?”

“It’s not what he did, Captain,” Fury said, approaching them. “It’s what he could do.”

Steve looked at him with contempt. “I thought the punishment usually came after the crime.”

“The decision has been made, Captain.” Fury had his hands on his hips, his stance the one he used to intimidate people. He was a big man, broad, and the scars and eye-patch made him look like he would cut someone before looking at them.

“Your decision,” Steve said. “I’m staying. The guy needs our help.”

Hillard glanced at Fury, who didn’t take his eye off Steve.

“That’s not gonna work, Captain.”

Steve met his gaze head-on. “You’re the ones who came after me, Fury,” he said. “If you need me, you’re going to have to give. I’m not going anywhere without Banner on board. You can get him back to where he needs to be and we’re good, but we are not leaving him behind. Do you understand me?”

Fury was silent for a long moment, then inclined his head. “He comes on this ship, he’s under your watch, Rogers,” he said curtly. “Anything happens, anything goes wrong, anything causes any problems because of him, and it’s on you.”

Steve pulled to attention, his hands fists by his side. “Sir, yes sir.”


	8. The Caged Beast

The tension in the airship was palpable.

It was all because of the man currently resting in one of the cabins.

The poor doctor was being avoided by everyone, in the furthest end of the ship, and the door of the cabin was locked on him from the outside. He'd gone from being a prisoner of his enemies to little more than a prisoner of his so-called friends.

Steve didn't like it.

He also didn't like being under orders to leave Banner alone.

Despite Fury's glowers and Hillard's warning about letting Banner be, he took a clay bottle of ale and a couple of cups and headed down to the far end of the ship. If they wouldn't give him answers, the least he could do was try to understand what was going on from Banner himself. 

The door was locked, sure, but it was easy enough to unlock from the outside. The deadbolts rattled back and the locking mechanism creaked. The room was less cabin and more a prison than anything else. 

He pushed it carefully open. "Doctor?"

There was a tired chuckle from the cabin. "Well, if it isn't our local rebel," Doctor Banner murmured. "It seems you take pleasure in disobeying orders."

Steve stepped into the cabin, propping the door open with a spar of wood. The room was small, barely wider than the bunk that took up one wall. A small gas lantern was screwed onto the wall casting the doctor in pale, yellowed hues. Banner was sitting up, wrapped in a blanket, his back to the wall. He had a small notebook in his hand, but closed it when Steve entered, slipping it beneath the blanket, out of sight.

"I'm not a man to hold a friend prisoner," Steve said, dragging over the small stool from the corner of the room. He sat down, his body folding awkwardly in the narrow space. "You want a drink?"

"I won't refuse a kindness," Banner said, a drawn smile on his thin lips. He accepted one of the cups from Steve, holding it carefully between his hands as Steve poured some ale for each of them. His dark eyes remained on Steve's face. "But that's not the only reason you're here, is it?"

Steve shook his head. "You know why I'm here, doctor."

Banner nodded, resigned. "You want to know why they wanted to leave me behind and why that door should stay locked."

Steve set the bottle down. "They think you're dangerous enough to leave behind and to keep locked up," he said. "One of the scientists I know looked terrified when he heard you were here, and he's not a man to scare easily. The Confederates thought you were dangerous enough to chain down and keep prisoner." He met Banner's eyes. "You don't look like much, doctor, so I have to say I'm curious."

Banner looked unhappily into his cup. "And if I tell you, you'll be the same as every one of them," he said. He sighed. "I suppose it was too much to hope for."

Steve leaned forward and laid his hand on the back of Banner's wrist. "Try me," he said quietly. "I don't scare as easily as you'd think."

Banner raised his eyes to Steve. "You were warned," he said. 

He took a quiet breath, then told a tale of science gone wrong in a vain attempt to replicate Steve's own enhancements, of a body that became something else, a man who became a beast. He spoke of the violence he had done, of the people caught in the wave of destruction, of the towns where buildings had been laid to waste.

He spoke in a flat monotone, his gaze returning to Steve's hand where it rested on his wrist, as if awaiting the moment it would recoil from him. 

Steve listened in silence, but did not withdraw his hand.

"Do you know why it happens?"

Banner was silent for a long while, then finally said, "When my emotions run high." His wrist was tense as a wire beneath Steve's hand, his heartbeat thrumming beneath his skin. 

"Your captivity..." Steve said, frowning. "Surely, that would be enough to affect you."

Banner laughed hoarsely. "Chloroform," he said. "They pumped it into my cell through the pipes. First breath of fresh air I had in months was when you opened the door."

Steve shook his head. "No one should have the power to do that to anyone," he said. He gently released Banner's wrist. "Was that why they took you? To use you as a weapon?"

Banner nodded, taking a drink of his ale. "They planned to make a scapegoat of me, Mr Rogers," he said quietly. "All they had to do was unleash that... thing and leave me to be found in the ruins. A known Union sympathiser, destroying Union property? How stable can the Union be if their friends are doing such damage."

"To be frank, sir," Steve said, "I'm amazed you're not distressed now." He nodded towards the door. "Locked up again, by your friends."

Banner's dark eyes were bloodshot when they fixed on Steve's face and his smile was a brief, dark shadow of a thing. "What makes you think I'm not, Mr Rogers?"

The silent threat hung in the air between them.

Steve suddenly understood exactly why Fury and Hillard were unhappy about Banner's presence on their ship. If Banner's condition was as dire as he said, if he lost control of himself while they were in the air, there was little chance any of them would survive.

He looked back at Banner placidly, despite the pounding of his heart. He could see the challenge and the fear in the doctor's eyes. 

"A test, Doctor Banner?" he said lightly. 

Banner inclined his head slightly, the guarded expression giving way to a smaller, weary smile. "Curiosity, Captain," he said, and the way he said the title suggested Steve had earned some additional measure of respect. "To see if you reacted like most men."

"You'll find I'm not most men," Steve said quietly.

"No," Banner agreed, gazing at him. "Most back off as if I were a powderkeg with a lit fuse."

Steve refilled his own cup from the bottle. "Powderkegs can be useful, doctor," he said, offering Banner a refill. "If you cut the fuse the right way."

Banner watched the ale pour into his cup. "That suggests an element of control," he said. 

"It does," Steve agreed. 

"It doesn't work that way. I... lose control completely."

Steve glanced up at him. "I don't know about that, doctor," he said. "There was something very precise about the way you brought down the bridge in Philadelphia. That's not a wild animal at work." He lifted his shoulders. "Maybe it's all about the threat to it - to you - at the time?"

Banner looked into his cup, frowning. "Maybe," he agreed, "but I think everyone would agree that when they see it, they become threatened, and then become a threat to it." One side of his mouth turned up in something that wasn't a smile. "It's not exactly friendly."

"Maybe one day, I'll see it."

"You'd better hope you don't," Banner replied. He drained the cup, then held it out to Steve, who set it down beside the half-full bottle. "I should get some rest. It's been a long..." He laughed faintly. "A long three years."

Steve rose from the stool. "I'll leave the door unlocked, doctor," he said. "Try not to... well, do whatever it is you do."

The lines around Banner's eyes deepened as he offered a brief smile. "I'll do what I can," he said. "Thank you, Captain."

Steve touched his fingertips to his brow in a salute. "Sir," he said, then withdrew from the room, leaving the door propped open.

He wasn't surprised to find the corridor occupied when he emerged. A woman was nonchalantly standing in the opposite doorway, a small book in her hand, spectacles balanced on her nose. Her eyes flicked up to him, clear and blue and watchful.

He hadn't met her before, but he recognised the copper tones of her hair: she was the woman who had been at the edge of the camp. He frowned. There was something familiar about her face, as if he'd seen her in passing somewhere. 

"Captain," she murmured. "How is the good doctor?"

"Resting, ma'am," he replied, watching her guardedly. "I'd consider it a favour if you left the door unlocked."

"And if I'm under other orders?"

His lips tightened into a line. "If that's the case, then I think we're going to have a disagreement."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Well, we wouldn't want that," she said, her voice a smoky southern drawl. She closed up her book. "Don't you worry yourself. The door won't be locked and your honour won't be impugned."

"You were listening?" he said, unsurprised.

One gloved hand removed her spectacles, tucking them into a small purse at her waist. "Mr Fury believed you would find the tale more palatable from the horse's mouth," she said. "Tell me, Captain, did you get all your questioned answered?"

"And raised a whole lot more, ma'am," he replied shortly. He searched her face and she looked back at him, a mild, quizzical smile curving her lips. "Like who you are. You didn't say."

"No," she agreed. "I didn't." She stepped back into the room behind her. "Good evening, Captain Rogers." 

The door closed on him.

Steve propped his hands on his hips. He was tired. Tired of wars and games and spies and deception. Once, he'd imagined he would be able to go home after the war, back to the apartment he'd shared with Bucky. Once, he'd imagined things could have been the way they always were.

Now, he knew that could never be true. He knew too much.

One of the speakers overhead crackled. 

"Captain Rogers to the helm."

It was Hillard's voice.

He sighed, running a hand over his face.

"Here we go again."


End file.
